Bobidily Boo, lives in a flying shoe, It’s got shoelace wings and a leather cockpit. He flew around the world and said “whoop-diddly-dee!”
He doesn’t wear clothes, just a beard so long, curls up and around: forms a thong.
Then one day he met a lady, as beautiful as could be. He fell in love, and she with he; so, they got married under a flying tree.
They toured the sky in their flying shoe, a blissful time with just them two.
Then Sarah, the wife, got pregnant, and Bobidily had to take stock; not much money in flying around in a shoe and yelling “whoop-diddly-dee!” At least that’s what his father-in-law says. Bobidily knows he’s right, but he can’t help but resent the guy. He got a job in tech sales; had to shave the beard –it was unkempt they’d said– and he’d had to start putting on clothes –they didn’t even give a reason for that.
Another problem came when they figured out Bobidily didn’t know how to read or write. He’d grown up in a shoe of course, so that kind of thing had never really been important. Bodidily supposed he understood the merits of a formal education: especially after he was fired.
After that he was hired by his father-in-law, who gave him a job at a Hertz rent-a-car, last month he made his first sale, Bobidily tried to be excited, but every now and again he’d look up at the sky and remember the feeling of the wind brushing against his naked skin as he flew through the sky. But now his shoe is grounded, sitting solitary at the top of a yellow hill.
His life is different now. So much of what he had known had come to change. He’d had to get a shower installed in the flying shoe. As well as a Wi-Fi port and in-shoe plumbing, which had in essence locked the shoe to the ground. His manager still said he smelled like shoe but there wasn’t much else Bobidily could do.
Sarah was getting more and more pregnant, and with that she seemed to grow more and more discontented living in a shoe.
“Bobidily” she’d say, “Don’t you want our child to grow up in a real house? Not a shoe?”
“I grew up in a shoe” Bobidily would say, a touch defensively, “What are you saying your better than me because I grew up in a shoe Sarah?”
“No of course not Bobidily,” Sarah would say, but then she’d look down, like she didn’t believe her own words. Then one day, she looked up; “Don’t you care what people will think of us?”
“I do.”
“Don’t you have any dignity at all!”
“Sarah…”
“I am a 29-year-old woman God damn it; I can’t raise a child in a shoe!”
Bobidily looked at her, tears streaming down her face, and then looked at his feet. Or rather, his shoes.
“Alright, I’ll get you a real house.”
So Bobidily went into the housing market, both as a seller and a buyer. There were more than enough options to buy, however Bobidily found trouble finding a buyer for the flying shoe. He had walkthroughs, virtual events, open-shoes, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a single offer.
Eventually he went to his father-in-law and asked for a loan in order to buy a real house.
“Alright,” the old man had said, “but only until you sell that cursed shoe.” With that he wrote the check, and Bobidily set out for the bank. Bobidily had to walk, because he didn’t own a car, partly because he couldn’t afford one, partly because it wasn’t a shoe. Luckily the bank was right down the hill from his shoe.
As he approached the door of the bank, he heard a couple whispering to each other, pointing at the top of the hill. He turned to them before he entered and asked,
“What are you guys looking at?”
They turned to him, and said with wide eyes,
“We’re talking about that shoe up the hill, we’ve been in the market for one for forever, but couldn’t find any!”
Bobidily’s eyes lit up, “Well you’re in luck, because that is actually my shoe, and I’m trying to sell it.”
Bobidily lead them up the hill and into the shoe. His wife wasn’t there, so he could show them around freely.
In fact, Bobidily couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his wife. Certainly not in the shoe. Bobidily pushed past this thought.
“Here’s the cockpit, tug on this shoelace turns you left, tug on the other one and it’ll go right, step on the tongue if you want to change the speed.”
“How fast does it go?” asked the man, a curly haired ginger who Bobidily could already tell wouldn’t be able to handle the flying-shoe-lifestyle.
“Well, it tops out comfortably at around mach 3” Bobidily said wistfully, then in a whisper to himself, “But you can get her to mach 4 if you use the wind.” Bobidily stared at the inside of the shoe.
A voice jolted Bobidily out of his reverie, “We’ll take her, does $2,000,000 sound appropriate?” Asked the woman.
“I think it would ,” responded Bobidily hazily, “let’s go down to the bank and draft up some paperwork.” The three of them were walking out of the shoe when Bobidily received a text message from Sarah.
It read, “Gave birth. It’s a boy. I don’t think we should be together.” Bobidily glanced at the back of the couple, advancing down the hill.
“I’ll meet you guys down there!” He shouted, “I need to get something from the shoe.” With that, Bobidily turned and raced into the shoe.
Ten seconds later, a loud wrenching sound echoed down the hill, and the couple turned back up to look. Rising into the air, with a stream of feces bursting from a disconnected pipe beneath it, was a flying shoe.
The two watched as a figure atop the shoe flung off his clothes, merrily tossed down his shoes, and began to fly away, laughing. The last thing they heard was a distant “whoop-diddly-dee!”
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